webnovelvip Chapter 371 One thought arises, all things perish! This is Qin Mu's realm.
Chapter 371 One thought arises, all things perish! This is Qin Mu's realm.
Behind the door was a deeper passageway, wider and higher than the one at the entrance, with a thick wooden pillar supporting it every ten feet along the earthen walls on both sides, and a beam as thick as a bowl hanging from the top.
The passageway is paved with gravel and coarse sand, which makes a rustling sound when you step on it. It is both slip-resistant and moisture-absorbing.
The air was even stuffier than at the entrance, mixed with the smells of mildew, sweat, and an indescribable stench.
Every few steps along the walls on both sides there is a niche containing an oil lamp. The flame remains motionless in the quiet air, illuminating the entire passageway in a dim and deep light.
Qin Mu walked at the front, his moon-white robe standing out conspicuously in the dim light.
The three women followed behind, their footsteps echoing in the narrow space like some ancient rhythm.
The passageway was very long, stretching as far as the eye could see. Every so often there was a fork in the road, with wooden signs at each fork bearing simple markings: "Granary," "Arsenal," "Barracks," and "Well."
Qin Mu would stop at each fork in the road, glance at the wooden signs, and then continue walking.
The deeper you go, the more humid the air becomes, and the gravel under your feet turns into stone slabs. The stone slabs are worn smooth by countless footsteps, showing that countless people have walked on them countless times.
Faint voices and footsteps could be heard in the distance; it wasn't just one person, but a group of people.
Qin Mu raised his right hand, signaling the three women to stop.
He listened for a moment, and a slow smile slowly curved his lips.
"Their camp is just ahead. There are quite a few people, at least a thousand."
He withdrew his hand and stood with his hands behind his back. "Let's go see what their fourth elder looks like."
Qin Mu strode into the barracks.
As the stone door was pushed open, a strong, sour stench wafted out, mixed with the smells of blood, sweat, and moldy straw.
The dim light illuminated a vast underground space, as large as two or three basketball courts, with thick wooden beams spanning the ceiling and rows of dim oil lamps hanging from them.
The barracks were packed with people.
On one side of the wall, dozens of girls, dressed in rags, huddled in a corner, shivering.
Their hair was disheveled, their faces were streaked with tears, some had blood at the corners of their mouths, and some had bruises all over their bare arms.
On the other side was a boy, also tied together with ropes, squatting on the ground with his head down and his shoulders shaking.
In the open space in the middle of the barracks, hundreds of soldiers in gray uniforms were amusing themselves around several young girls.
Some people were laughing, some were shouting, and some were pouring wine into the girl's mouth. The wine dripped down her chin, soaking her already thin clothes.
A young girl was pushed to the ground, and several soldiers surrounded her, tearing at her clothes. The sound of tearing fabric was particularly jarring amidst the noise.
Zhao Qingxue's pupils suddenly contracted.
Her hand gripped the Frostmoon Sword tightly, her knuckles turning white, and her eyes burning with barely suppressed rage.
Jiang Zhaoyue's hands were trembling, her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her nails were digging deeply into her palms.
She thought of the women from the Northern Frontier who had been abducted by the Northern Barbarians, and the faces that would never return.
Yunluan's face was as cold as ice, her hand on the hilt of her sword, which was already three inches from its sheath.
Her gaze swept across the soldiers' faces, like counting sheep, memorizing every single one, leaving no one out.
Qin Mu's gaze swept over the wooden plaque hanging at the entrance of the barracks, which had the number "seven" engraved on it.
Barracks No. 7, with approximately two thousand people.
Two thousand soldiers were scattered throughout this huge underground space. Some were drinking, some were gambling, and some were bullying the young boys and girls.
Killing them all at once is difficult, but not impossible.
He raised his right hand, his five fingers slightly spread, and gently clenched his fist in the air.
Inside the barracks, all the swords trembled simultaneously.
The swords hanging on the wall, the swords at the waist, the swords leaning against the bed—hundreds of iron swords simultaneously emitted a buzzing vibration, like countless bees fluttering their wings.
The soldiers stopped what they were doing, looked up, and stared blankly at their swords.
Qin Mu gently hooked his finger.
Hundreds of swords were drawn simultaneously, their blades tracing countless silver-white arcs in the air, like a silent downpour.
Wherever the sword flashed, blood splattered.
Before the soldiers could even scream, their throats were slit, their chests were pierced, and their heads rolled off their shoulders.
One corpse after another fell, piling up to form a small mountain.
In less than three breaths.
There wasn't a single soldier standing in the barracks anymore.
Only the corpses and flowing blood scattered on the ground formed dark red streams that meandered along the cracks in the stone slabs.
Zhao Qingxue's hand, which was gripping the sword hilt, froze.
Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but she couldn't utter a single word.
Looking at the corpses scattered on the ground, and then at Qin Mu's hand slowly retracting, the lake in her heart was once again ripped open.
With a single thought, all things perish.
This is not martial arts, this is immortal magic, a technique possessed only by legendary immortals.
Yunluan slowly loosened her hand from the hilt of the sword.
Looking at the soldiers' corpses and the blood mist still slowly drifting down in the air, her awe of His Majesty deepened.
She remembered that she had just wanted to draw her sword and rush in, killing them one by one until dawn, until her hands were sore.
But Your Majesty only needs a single thought.
Jiang Zhaoyue stood there, her eyes reddening.
It wasn't fear, but the fact that the boys and girls who had been imprisoned here were finally rescued.
In a corner of the barracks, the boys and girls, who were tied with ropes, stared wide-eyed at the corpses scattered on the ground and at the young man standing at the door, his moon-white robe spotless.
Some people started to tremble, some shrank back even more, and some covered their mouths, afraid to make a sound.
Qin Mu turned around and faced the boys and girls huddled in the corner. His voice was soft, but it clearly reached everyone's ears.
"Follow this road and leave here."
The young men and women were stunned for a moment.
Then some people stood up, some started to untie the ropes, and some ran outside while holding onto the wall.
A girl ran to the door, then suddenly stopped, turned around, and bowed deeply to Qin Mu. Tears welled up from her swollen eyes and dripped onto the ground.
Then she turned around and ran into the passageway with the crowd.
The footsteps grew fainter and fainter until they disappeared into the darkness.
Qin Mu withdrew his gaze, walked out of Barracks No. 7, and continued walking forward along the passageway.
"Next." His voice was soft, echoing in the deep passageway.
The three women followed behind, their footsteps rhythmic and firm, like four unstoppable gusts of wind.
.......
In the blink of an eye, Qin Mu had already wiped out three barracks.
Six thousand corpses lay scattered on both sides of the passageway, their blood flowing like streams down the cracks in the stone slabs.
The air was thick with the pungent smell of blood, mixed with the acrid odor of oil lamps and the dampness of the soil, making one want to vomit.
Finally, someone realized something was wrong.
An old man in a gray robe rushed out from the depths of the passageway. He had white hair, a gaunt face, and his triangular eyes were filled with rage.
He held an iron staff in his hand, the head of which was carved with a crescent moon. His steps were hurried, and the iron staff made a dull "thud" sound as it struck the stone slab.
Qin Mu stopped and looked at the approaching old man, a slow smile curving his lips.
"You're the Fourth Elder?"
The Fourth Elder stopped a foot away from him, slammed his iron staff on the ground, and scattered stones everywhere.
His gaze swept over the corpses scattered on the ground, his pupils suddenly contracted, and he raised his head, staring intently at Qin Mu.
"Who are you? How dare you trespass here? Do you even know where you are?"
Qin Mu did not answer.
He simply raised his right hand and waved it casually.
The Fourth Elder's body suddenly stiffened, his eyes widened, his mouth opened, and a "hoarse" sound came from his throat.
His iron staff slipped from his hand and crashed to the ground with a thud.
His body slowly fell backward, like a withered tree uprooted, crashing to the ground and kicking up a cloud of dust.
There was a very fine hole between his eyebrows, but no blood was flowing out, and the skin around the wound was charred black.
Qin Mu withdrew his hand, stepped over the Fourth Elder's corpse, and continued walking towards the next barracks.
He killed very quickly.
Two thousand men in one barracks, and it was over in no time.
He fought his way from the seventh barracks to the fifteenth barracks, and from the fifteenth barracks to the twentieth barracks, leaving behind only corpses and pools of blood in his wake.
The four elders rushed out one after another, only to fall down one after another; none of them could stop him.
If this were on the ground, and if 20,000 people were gathered together, he wouldn't be so easy to kill.
But this place is underground, the space is cramped, the passageways are narrow, and the barracks are sealed off, so those people have nowhere to escape.
They were divided into numerous barracks, each with about two thousand people, scattered throughout this vast underground network.
All he had to do was walk into each barracks, raise his hand, and leave.
They were almost completely unprepared.
For decades, they had been free from external enemies and enjoyed smooth sailing; they had forgotten what swords were for.
A total of 20,000 people fell.
The remaining soldiers finally realized what was happening, and they poured out of their various barracks, gathering in the largest open space in the center.
The sword was drawn, the bow was nocked, and the spearhead was aimed at the entrance to the tunnel.
Six gray-robed old men stood at the front of the line. The one in the lead had white hair and beard, a square face, and the air of authority that belonged to someone who had long held a high position.
His robes were more luxurious than the others, with silver crescent patterns embroidered on the cuffs. He held no weapon, stood with his hands behind his back, and stared intently into the depths of the passageway.
Grand Elder.
He had just been playing with the newly arrived female believer when he suddenly heard a deafening scream from outside.
He threw on his clothes and rushed out, only to find a ground littered with corpses and a sea of blood.
Twenty thousand people, a full twenty thousand people, just like that, gone.
His fingers trembled slightly inside his sleeve, not from fear, but from disbelief that this was something a human could do.
Even a Celestial Realm expert couldn't kill 20,000 people silently in such a short time.
Footsteps came from deep within the passageway, very light, very steady, neither hurried nor slow.
Qin Mu came out.
The moon-white robe remained spotless, without a single drop of blood splattered on it.
His face held that ambiguous smile, his gaze sweeping over the six elders and the trembling soldiers behind them, as if inspecting a group of prey already in a cage.
The elder's pupils suddenly contracted.
His gaze lingered on Qin Mu for a moment before shifting to the three women behind him.
There were four people, only four people.
He killed 20,000 of them without a scratch, his breathing was steady, and not even his breathing was disordered.
A thought flashed through his mind—this person is not human, but a devil.
Standing behind Qin Mu, Zhao Qingxue watched the uncontrollable fear on the face of the Grand Elder, her heart as calm as a mirror.
She had seen Qin Mu like this before, at the Nujiang ferry crossing, at the Liyang Imperial Palace, and high in the sky.
Every time, she thought that was all he had up his sleeve, but every time he would reveal a new one, one so big it left her in despair.
She didn't lose at all to someone like that.
The last thorn in her heart had melted away at some point.
Yunluan placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, her gaze sweeping over the soldiers as she calculated how many she could kill if she made a move.
But as she looked at Qin Mu's retreating figure, she suddenly realized that thinking about all this was pointless.
His Majesty can order the execution of 20,000 people with a single thought; there's no need for her to draw her sword.
Standing behind Qin Mu, Jiang Zhaoyue looked at the fear in the soldiers' eyes and felt a complex mix of emotions welling up inside her.
She was once on the other side, fearful, resistant, and struggling desperately, thinking that if she just held on a little longer, she could escape.
Later she realized that there was no escaping it; from the moment she met him, she was destined to stand behind him.
Qin Mu didn't look at the Grand Elder, but turned to Yun Luan and asked, "Have all the believers inside been evacuated?"
Yunluan bowed slightly. "Your Majesty, they have all been evacuated. I have checked three times, and nothing has been missed."
Qin Mu nodded and looked away. "Then we can leave now."
Yunluan paused for a moment. "Then what about them...?"
Qin Mu smiled, said nothing, turned around, and walked towards the entrance of the passageway.
The moon-white robe fluttered gently in the dim candlelight, and the pace was unhurried, as if strolling in one's own backyard.
The three women followed behind him, their footsteps gradually fading into the distance and disappearing into the depths of the passageway.
The Grand Elder stood still, motionless.
His back was soaked with cold sweat, his robes clung to his skin, icy cold.
His hands were still shaking, from his fingers all the way to his shoulders.
He felt like he had been spared from death; the devil could have killed them, but he didn't.
He didn't know why; he only knew he was alive, and that was enough.
He let out a long breath, turned around, and faced the soldiers who had also survived the ordeal, his voice hoarse.
"Quickly, report this news to the Moon Goddess! We must do it as soon as possible—"
He didn't finish his sentence.
A deep, muffled thud came from above, like a muffled thunderclap exploding on the ground.
Then the whole world shook violently, as if the world had been turned upside down!
Gravel and dust cascaded down from the gaps in the beams, hitting his shoulders and the soldiers' heads.
Everyone looked up at the thick beam overhead.
The beams were trembling violently, splinters of wood were flying everywhere, and cracks were spreading from the middle of the beams to both ends, like a spider web that was cracking open.
The elder's eyes widened to their limit.
His mouth was open, and a short, desperate scream escaped his throat.
"No!--"